Soul Eater Unwrapped
by Professor Maka
Summary: This is a series of silly little shorts. In the latest short, written in honor of Halloween, Soul and Maka Cosplay Fairy Tail characters. Shameless fluff.
1. The Gift

**A/N: This started as a single drabble, The Gift, but I've decided to mark this space for a non-song related series of silly little shorts. Like yummy bits of candy, each sweet little _Soul Eater_ morsel will be unwrapped for your consumption.**

**This first little drabble is set right after the first fight with Arachne and Giriko. I'm aware this is a lot of fluff to lead to the punch line; I make no apologies. **

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**The Gift**

This wasn't the type of place he normally liked to go. Cramped and stuffy, it made him feel out of place, like if he moved half an inch the wrong way the whole place would come crashing down around him. He remembered as a child occasionally entering such stores with his mother, and even back then he had felt out of place and bored. He looked around, his gaze sliding from object to object, trying to pick out one that might do. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that reminded him of _her_. He sighed his frustration and his continued failure. He couldn't even get this right.

It was a specialty gift shop and it boasted below its large, gilt sign that within would be found a gift for any and everyone. Soul had trouble believing that was true; sure, there were countless things crammed into every available crevice in the place, shiny things and intricate things, books and art, but he didn't see one thing that he would want. There were so many objects all shoved together wily-nily that he couldn't tell what Maka might like, and the frustration washed through him in waves, seething, boiling. This was the fifth shop he had been to. He just wanted to find something that would make her smile so he'd stop feeling so damned useless. Black*Star was off seeking revenge for _his meister_ and here he was, a weapon without a technician, unable to do anything for her. He'd gotten the bright idea to try to buy her a gift to cheer her, needing to do something, anything, to assuage his guilt, to alleviate his sense of helplessness, but he was beginning to suspect that even that was futile. Blair would have to leave her bedside soon and he would need to return. He was running out of time.

Soul heard a clearing of the throat behind him and whipped around to face the store attendant, a tall, thin man of maybe twenty, with soft brown hair and light blue eyes. He was eyeing the weapon expectantly.

"Can I help you?" he said, his soft voice polite.

"Nah, I'm just looking," Soul responded flatly. How was some register jockey who had never met Maka going to help when even her own weapon couldn't find her a good gift? He should have stuck with a book, but he'd thought books were easy, books were expected when it came to his bookworm of a meister, and he wanted to actually surprise her. Stupid. Maybe he should just run to the bookstore and call it a day.

"For anything in particular?" He had to give the guy this, he was persistent. Well, it couldn't hurt, could it?

"I'm, uh, looking for a gift."

"Uh huh," the guy replied, drawing out the syllables. Okay, so it was a gift store. _Of course _he was looking for a gift. He'd have smacked himself in the forehead if it wouldn't have made him look even more uncool.

"For, um, a friend."

"What's this friend like?" the man pressed.

"Well, she likes books. She's kind of a nerd, actually. She studies a lot, and she's a kickass fighter. Uh…" At the last bit as spark of understanding lit the attendant's eyes and he nodded.

"She attends the DWMA?"

"Yeah, we both do."

"And she's your partner?" Soul nodded. "And you're…" he gave Soul a once over, "her weapon?" Another nod. What was up with this guy? Why could it possibly matter?"

"You're Soul Eater, right?" Soul couldn't keep the surprise from his face.

"Uh, sure, who's asking?" Yeah, that was the cool response. At least he'd saved face after his jaw had dropped to the floor, but he still wondered how this dude could possibly know who he was. The guy was just some retail loser.

"Jared," he held out a hand but Soul just looked at it and nodded in recognition. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence before the attendant pushed on.

"Your meister is Maka Albarn, right?" his gaze was even as he kept it on Soul, and this time, Soul managed not to let his jaw fall to the floor.

"That's right," he responded slowly, eyeing the other guy suspiciously. "You know her?"

"Yep!" the attendant responded brightly, sporting a genuine smile, "she's in my Saturday book club!" So that's where she went every other Saturday afternoon. Figured this guy was a fellow nerd. But really, it was good luck. If this loser knew Maka, maybe he really could help. It just irked him that he actually needed the help. Shouldn't he know his meister better than this?

"So what do _you _think Maka would like?" Soul asked sullenly, the thought that this guy knew something about his partner that he didn't was irritating.

"How about a book?" Soul had to refrain from smacking himself in the forehead for a second time. Yeah, this guy was as useless as he was.

"She's got plenty of those. Lookin' for something a little different."

"Ah, yes. Well, maybe some jewelry? All girls like jewelry."

"Are you sure you know Maka?" Soul looked skeptical. Maka was _not_ like 'all girls' and she had never shown an interest in anything as purely ornamental as jewelry.

"Okay, maybe not. What about some music?" Yeah, he'd consider that, and if he bought her a record she'd even pretend to like it, but she wouldn't really.

"No," his response was flat.

"Uh…mmm…new boots?" he looked hopeful.

"No. Look, I guess you can't help me after all. I should go." Soul turned and began to move towards the door when he heard the man's voice at his back, heard his fingers snap in excitement,

"No, wait! I've got it! A snow globe!" Soul turned around to face him, one skeptical eyebrow reaching for his hairline.

"Whaa?"

"You know," he looked around and then grabbed a glass globe resting on a wooden base. It was filled with water and white flecks. He shook it up and the white stuff swirled and began to fall. "A snow globe. She'd love it. Girls _love_ snow globes." Soul shook his head.

"Maka isn't just some girl," he turned again to leave.

"Well, no," the attendant agreed, "but she would like a snow globe, I'm sure about that."

"How can you be sure?" His voice was thick with skepticism, "I mean, you suggested _jewelry._"

"Yeah, sorry about that, force of habit," he scratched his head, his smile sheepish. "But I am sure about this. I remember a few months ago when the club read a collection of Frost poetry. Maka was fascinated by the poems about snow and mentioned how being a Death kid, she had only seen it fall a handful of times while out on missions. So I'll bet she'd love a snow globe."

"You know, I think you might be right," because Soul did remember Maka being fascinated by the snow when they'd been on missions, remembered her elated smile. Yeah, a snow globe, that would be cool.

"Well, we keep them over here," Jared motioned and Soul walked over to look at a set of shelves filled with the things. There were globes for dozens of cities, countries, and buildings, real and imaginary. Soul looked them over until a lone globe caught his eye with the farcical sight of snow falling over Death City. Yeah, that was the one. Cool. Maybe Maka could never see real snow in her hometown, but he'd give her the next best thing. Soul thanked Jared, genuinely thanked him, and paid for the purchase. Jared just smiled as he handed him the bag with the globe and his change, scratching his head in thought again. Must have been some sort of reflex.

"You know, you really aren't as big an asshole as she makes you out to be," he said cheerfully. "Well, good luck," the attendant's grin widened and Soul just shook his head, having no good response for that, and left the store. _He wasn't as big an asshole as she made him out to be? _Just what the hell was that supposed to mean? He was starting to lose his temper at the thought. Man, so uncool. Maka had probably just vented once to this guy when they'd had a fight and he'd taken it wrong. Yeah, he'd go with that one.

Making his way to the curb where his motorcycle was parked, Soul stuffed his prize into the saddlebag and swung his leg over, taking off with a roar. He just had time to get to the Academy and trade places with Blair. He'd managed to actually get a gift and with time to spare. Cool. Hopefully, Maka would actually like it. When he arrived, he parked his bike in his usual spot and, in his excitement, took the stairs two at a time, forgetting that it was uncool to act like a schoolboy buying chocolate for his first crush when you were going to see your injured meister. He burst through the main doors and next thing he knew, he was on the floor.

"Ow!" he heard a female voice echo his own exclamation. He looked ahead. Like him, Blair was sprawled on her ass on the floor. Apparently, they'd smacked right into each other. Brilliant.

"What the hell, Blair?"

"Nya, Blair was just trying to get to her job. Scythe-boy is the one who came crashing through the door like a rabid tornado." Soul shook his head. Rabid _tornado? _Only Blair. He looked down at his hands and, realizing they were now empty, felt panic rise in his throat. _Where'd it go?_ He looked around frantically before catching site of the bag, which had slid across the floor. He crawled over to it and groaned. Water had spread out from the bag. The globe was destroyed.

"What the hell am I going to do now?" So close, he'd been so damned close.

"Was that for Maka?" Blair had also crawled over and was eying the wet bag skeptically.

"Yeah," he admitted. "It was." A sudden thought came to him. He had to see Maka now, but maybe Blair…"

"Hey, Blair? Do you think you could go by the gift store and get a new one on your way to work, bring it here when your shift is over? I don't want to leave Maka, but uh…"

"Oh, of course, Bu-tan would love to help her scythe-boy," she held out her hand expectantly.

"Er, right," he dug through his pants, finding his wallet, and counting out enough to pay for a replacement. "The store is called The Perfect Gift. You just need to buy a snow globe of Death City. I'm pretty sure I saw another one. And, uh, thanks."

"No problem!" she sang. Standing up, she strutted through the door.

"Right," he repeated with a sigh, picking himself and the bag up. He deposited the soggy, crunching remains of the gift in the nearest garbage can and made his way to the Dispensary. Maka was happy to see him, even without a gift, and he spent the next several hours as he had spent the last several days, caring for her and keeping her company. She was his meister; it was his job.

When Blair finally came in she looked a little sheepish as Soul eyed her expectantly.

"Hi Blair!" Maka said happily. "I didn't expect you to be back today."

"Hi Maka-chan. Bu-tan had to do a favor for scythe boy. Here, he forgot this at home," she smiled down at Maka as the meister greeted her, holding up a small bag. Soul frowned as he eyed it. It looked too small to hold a snow globe. What had Blair…?

"Aw, Soul," his meister blushed prettily, "You didn't have to." Knowing she could not do so for herself, Blair began to dig into the bag and pulled out a lacy babydoll and matching thong. They were absolutely sheer. Soul had to pinch his nose to keep it from gushing at the sight; he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Blair raised the items in front of Maka's eyes and the meister's mouth flattened into a line of displeasure. She eyed them dubiously for several moments, her face beginning more and more to resemble a tomato. Then she screeched,

"_PERVERT! _Makaaaaa CHOP!" The book connecting with his forehead surprised him, not because he shouldn't have expected it given the situation, but because Maka hadn't been able to move for days. Well, he reasoned as the world began to go fuzzy around the edges, she must have gotten movement back in her arms. That was good. The world was spinning as he slumped to the floor. _Never_ trust a cat, he thought ruefully. He almost felt sorry for Spirit, his mind drifting to the time Maka had received a similar item delivered by their roommate. His last thought before his world faded to black was that he'd need to explain things when he woke up. Some gift.


	2. The Madness of Modern Art

**A/N: This DTK centered short was written in honor of reaching 88 Followers on Tumblr. Kid is difficult for me to write, so this was a challenge to say the least. Thanks to Soul-Dwelling for the great prompt, Kid visits a modern art museum. This is supposed set in the manga sometime after the Salvage Arc but before going to the moon. Thanks again to my 88 wonderful followers!**

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**The Madness of Modern Art:**

Why was he doing this again?

Oh, yes, he'd lost at basketball. He'd lost at basketball like the failure of a death god that he was and Black*Star had come up with this most marvelous of punishments. Kid was certain, entirely certain, he had not gotten the idea on his own, though who had insisted on this ridiculously devious plan he could not say. Maka was not so cruel, nor was Tsubaki, and Liz would be the one dealing with his… eccentricities was the kind way to put it, so she would hardly push such a thing. Patti would never think of it, which left Soul. He'd never thought the demon scythe to be so devious, so unfeeling, but then, the other boy did enjoy the occasional prank. Kid would have to think of a suitable form of vengeance in the near future; he was pretty sure he could goad the other boy into earning a chop from his partner. That should suffice.

So lovely, to be the latest victim. But he could do this. He could. He wouldn't break down, he wouldn't destroy the place in a fit of rage, he just wouldn't. He took in one deep breath and then a second as they mounted the steps. The Death City Modern Museum of Art was internationally renowned for having one of the finest collections in the world; his father was a lover of art and had seen to it personally. Kid had always studiously avoided the place. He had seen its contents in books, books he had since burned. It was full, packed really, with asymmetrical garbage, art so wholly lacking in any sort of symmetry that just the thought of what was inside made him cringe, almost cower. _I can do this, I can do this, I can do this, _his mental chant began anew.

As he cleared the last step, Kid looked up, up, up to the sculpture that graced the center of the courtyard fronting the museum and almost went back down, down, down the steps again right then and there. There was symmetry to the large, pillar shaped thing in the stepped well. He noticed it, what with the equally spaced squares that encircled it. Yet, he could not admire it, not with how that very same pillar was _leaning precariously to the right, looking like it was about to fall over_. He began to gulp in deep breaths, almost gasping for air in his desperation.

"Why. Is that Asymmetrical Garbage. In front. Of my Father's Museum?" he managed to get out between clenched teeth. They were all with him, all of them, some for support, some for other, more obviously nefarious purposes. He could hear the snickers behind him at his predicament. Maka swam into his narrowed vision, blissfully blocking his view of the atrocity before him with her wonderfully symmetrical pigtailed head.

"It was commissioned for the museum specifically, I think. It's pretty interesting. Come on, Kid," she smiled. "Let's just go inside, alright?"

"A..alright," he stammered out, lowering his eyes to the ground to avoid getting another glimpse of that _wretched thing._

_I must not destroy the entry sculpture, I must not destroy the entry sculpture, I must not destroy the entry sculpture,_ his new internal chant began as he moved, one foot in front of the other, eyes kept steadily down, and they walked around _it that must not be named _and up to the doors of the museum. Maka had taken one elbow, Liz the other, and he could hear Patti giggling from somewhere behind him to the right. They were past it now and he cast his eyes back up. Before him stood two large, perfectly symmetrical bronze doors.

"Ah! Symmetry! Beautiful, wonderful, perfect symmetry! This, you see, this is what should grace my father's museum!" He could feel the tears come to his eyes, welling with happiness in relief at the sight of such perfection after the horror he had only just this was a sign of what was inside, a sign that it would be filled with perfectly lovely, symmetrical beauty. Perhaps that book had been wrong, or perhaps his father had realized the error of what had been there before and had rightfully destroyed the previous horrors to be replaced with perfectly symmetrical pieces. Yes, surely. Surely anything his father sponsored must be filled only with orderly works of wonder.

"They're only doors," he heard Soul mutter from somewhere behind him. Kid bit back the urge to correct him violently. It wasn't the scythe's fault, not really. He just didn't appreciate true art, the true beauty of symmetry. He wouldn't know beauty if it smacked him over the head; just look at his hair. The proto-death god shuddered. That hair… Must not think of that horrible, white, octopus-like mess. Must not…

Kid pushed open the doors. He could get through this. He was a death god, for Shinigami's sake, not some sniveling coward. He would not be defeated by hair and he would most certainly not be defeated by art!

He fell to his knees as the sight of the massive painting that greeted them inside. He _would_ be defeated by art. Most definitely, most assuredly, he was being defeated by art. The painting was mostly white, but splattered all over with paint in every imaginable color. It was a chaotic mess; it was disgusting. He clenched and unclenched his fists, itching to hold Liz and Patti in his hands, itching to pull the trigger and obliterate the horror before him. This was even _worse_ than that thing in the courtyard. Far, far worse. He wrenched his eyes to the ground, cowering.

"Asymmetrical garbage…" he whispered. "How can my father…"

There was snickering all around him again, Soul and Black*Star reveling in his involuntary disgust. Some friends. Patti was laughing hysterically. Then he heard a soothing voice in his ear.

"It's fine Kid, let's go see something else, okay? Just don't look. It'll be fine." It was Liz's voice, soft and comforting. "I think there's an Andy Warhol exhibit. Let's just look at that, and then I think you've done enough to hold up your end and we can go get something to eat, okay?"

"An..dy Warhol? Yes. That sounds good, yes." He was pretty sure he remembered reading about Warhol once, and that his works were very balanced. He hoped they were symmetrical; he wasn't sure he could take anything else like that paint-splattered monstrosity. He kept his gaze down, sucking in air greedily, trying to steady his racing heart, trying to curb the urge to incinerate the abomination that had invaded his vision. He stood up. He moved his feet, one after the other, letting Liz guide his steps. The snickering died down. He heard Black*Star protest.

"Hey! No fair, this stuff is cheating!"

"You didn't specify which art he must look at," he heard the assassin-boy's weapon tell him calmly, earning more sputtered protests from her meister. He heard a thunk and then a loud thump behind him and he figured that Maka had settled the issue with a book, though he couldn't be certain with his eyes still glued studiously to his feet. He was getting better at this, and he couldn't help but to be a little proud of himself. A few months ago he would have destroyed the first painting. A year ago he wouldn't have made it past the sculpture. He had made progress.

"You can look up now, Kiddo! This room is great!" It was Patti's voice that spoke, sounding excited. "You should love it!"

He dared to lift his eyes, dared to look in front of him. Then, fell to his knees again, this time in a fit of unbridled joy.

"It's…Beautiful! Oh symmetry! Perfect, perfect symmetry!"

It was one of the most gorgeous things he'd ever seen. Pictures of soup cans, perfectly rendered, perfectly aligned. It was breathtaking. This, _this_ was art! He could feel the hot, salty tears on his cheeks, tears of pure elation, and couldn't find it in himself to care about the other boys' snickering. Who cared what they thought when he had found such beauty, such perfection? He knew his father wouldn't let his museum be stuffed with asymmetrical trash! Of course not!

The proto-death god rose and risked looking around. He turned and his eyes settled on another painting. This one was of a nun, and his eyes slammed down as he fell to his knees again, his joy turning to tears of anguish and frustration.

"Whyyyyy? Why is this asymmetrical garbage next to the lovely, beautiful…"

The snickers started again along with the insane giggling. How? How could they not see the colors on the nun's face divided differently? How could they not see how hideous, how eye searingly awful it was?

"Shhh… Kid, calm down. Here, look at this, okay?" And he felt the strong hands of his weapon under his armpits, felt them begin to pull at him, dragging him along.

"Look, now. It's safe."

And it was. Dear, sweet Liz, it really was. In front of him was arrayed different portraits of the same woman, in different colors, yes, but arranged in neat rows, lovely, symmetrical rows of the same lovely, symmetrical woman.

"It's… wonderful!" He leapt to his feet with a grin. "Perfect! Ah, the symmetry! Beautiful!"

"I knew you'd like Warhol," Liz offered with a smile, glancing nervously back at that _other_ thing that he was now trying hard to forget existed. "I think we've seen enough, right? What do you say we get out of here?"

"But…" He wanted to see more of the beautiful Warhol works. He looked at her face, though, at the frown deepening with his protest, and decided to trust her judgment.

"Sure, you're right of course, Elizabeth. We will go now."

"Great," she smiled. "You did great!"

"Wait," he heard Black*Star whine from a few paintings away, "he only saw a few paintings. He…"

"…has been here for over half an hour. I'd say that's time enough." Maka cut in. Kid hazarded a glance over her way, keeping his vision narrowed, and saw her waving a book menacingly. Well, at least she had his back.

"Fine," Black*Star said with an exaggerated huff, crossing his arms over his chest. "A true God is merciful to his followers." Liz grabbed her meister's shoulder with a gentle squeeze and began steering him towards the exit.

"Look down, okay, just in case."

Alright," he agreed quietly. The exit she chose was not the one they had entered through, but a small door with a red sign that read "Emergency Exit."

"Um, Liz, I don't think…" Tsubaki said from somewhere behind them.

"I don't care," Liz gritted back and pushed open the door to the sound of loud alarms. "It's time to go."

Kid wondered, silently, just what it was she was so desperate to get away from and decided he was probably better off not knowing. That was the point. They all hurried out of the side door and onto the grass next to the building and as they noticed security headed their way, decided collectively it was better not to be stuck explaining. Weapons transformed, Kid broke out Beelzebub, Soul sprouted wings, Tsubaki lengthened her shadow, and they all moved quickly away, landing in a park half a mile distant. The weapons re-transformed and they stood in a circle, all looking at each other with satisfaction at their narrow escape.

"Burgers?" Kid offered, one eyebrow raised. His friends were all smiling at him, and several nodded. So, maybe they could be thoughtless jerks, maybe some of them enjoyed laughing at his little problem, but they were also good friends. They stuck with him. They put up with his… quirk. And he was getting better. He had made it out with himself and the museum in one piece and he felt pretty damned happy about that. He really _had_ made progress.

"Burgers!" several voices chimed in, and the group strolled to the street and off to celebrate.


	3. Eight Hours in Heaven

**Eight Hours in Heaven:**

Neither of them was quite sure how they had ended up here, or what to do with themselves now that they were stuck in the dark, for eight—yes _eight_—ridiculously long hours.

It was all Liz's fault. Liz, the horrible, conniving, ridiculous…his head strayed to some choicer words, hers to more esoteric, but the result was the same. Still stuck. He hadn't even wanted to go to the damned party—it was their first night off in weeks—but she had dragged him, insisting it would be _rude_ not to make an appearance. These were their friends, after all. Shyeah,, some friends.

It was a big party. Not just Kid and Liz and Patti, Black*Star and Tsubaki, Soul and Maka as were most of their gatherings, or even the whole of Spartoi as was also typical, no. This time, Liz had convinced Kid to have a party and invite what seemed like most the school. And then she'd announced the showpiece of her event.

"Attention, everyone!" She turned off the music and took a position atop a table, looking around expectantly. "We're going to play a game. Everyone is going to put their names in a hat and one lucky pair will be chosen to participate in a special variation of seven minutes in heaven—seven _hours_ in heaven!"

"WAIT!" Kid cried out, leaping up on the table to confront Liz. "Eight, Please make it 8!"

"Fine," Liz rolled her eyes. "_Eight_ hours in heaven." Kid beamed and nodded in approval, pleased with the alteration. Everyone else just stared for a minute longer before the room burst into chatter. Some seemed excited, some frightened, some amused. One pair, tucked away in a far corner, had been among those laughing at the ridiculousness of it. Some poor suckers were going to end up trapped in a dark closet for 8 bloody hours. Little did they think those poor suckers would turn out to be them. With so many people at the party, the chances were just too low. Devious, devious Liz…

Liz drew up all the names herself and plunked them into one hat, which took several minutes. At one point, Black*Star loudly suggested how great it would be if the people hated each other as Tsubaki tried to bring his attention back to the food table. Then Liz stood back up on the table and drew out two slips of paper with great care and ceremony. She unfolded the first, looked at it with a smirk, then her eyes roved around the room until they fell on him.

"Our first participant is—" She'd put on a ridiculous game show voice that had the crowd laughing, "Soul Eater Evans!"

"What..?" He blinked and shook his head. "I don't…" He began to sputter. The room had erupted in noise then, and whatever else he wanted to say was lost. Maka, who was standing next to him on the far side of the room, put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but the gesture was belied by the slight smirk on her face and her less than soothing words as she leaned in.

"Maybe you'll get lucky and be paired with Black*Star."

Soul shuddered at that. Eight hours in a closet with that idiot? Sure he was his best friend, but he was also a hyperactive loud mouth. He wasn't sure he could survive eight hours in a dark, cramped space with the blue-haired ninja. Some squeals erupted from several girls around the room and Maka's smirk turned into a frown. She should have expected the fan club to chime in. Soul just shuddered again, his own frown deepening. The room began to hush and everyone looked up again. Liz was raising a hand.

"Quiet, everyone! We still have another player to choose!" Her grin was almost maniacal and neither Soul nor Maka could help the bad feeling that entered the very pit of their stomachs as her hand fished around in the hat. Finally, she pulled out a second slip of paper and unfolded it almost lovingly, the maniacal grin widening even more, making her look like some strange caricature of herself, like she was possessed by black blood rather than simply heading a silly party game.

"The second participant is—I think you guys are gonna like this—" Her gaze swept the room ominously and Maka almost squeaked in protest as it settled on her, "Maka Albarn!" The crowd erupted. A loud "YOSH!" came from the vicinity of the food table, some scattered groans and boos were heard from the scattered fan girls, and an assortment of loud hoots, whistles, and cheers were emitted by the rest of the crowd. Maka was fairly sure she must have turned about the shade of a beet, and Soul was too busy trying to decide if he was relieved or petrified to notice.

The stunned pair just blinked up at Liz, who beamed down at them. Based on expression alone she should be cackling like a madwoman, but she somehow managed to restrain the impulse as she shushed the crowd again.

"Now, Soul, Maka, if you would follow me, I have the room prepared. The rest of you, party on!" Cheers erupted as Liz hopped down from the table to snake behind the two, taking each by a shoulder to guide them away from the main room. Maka, refusing to give in so easily to this—well, humiliation was what it was!—whirled on her friend and said, loudly enough to draw the attention of the crowd.

"Wait! How do we know you really drew our names?"

Liz pouted. "What, you don't trust me?"

"No," Maka responded flatly and Liz jutted out a lip and held out the papers to drop in Maka's outstretch hand. Maka blinked once, twice as she read, Soul flicking his eyes to the paper as well.

"Crap, " was all Maka said, dropping the rare swear in her extreme anxiety over the situation, and then handed the papers back. She huffed. "Fine, lead the way."

Liz grinned again, and the crowd watched as she led them back into a hallway. The three heard the sounds of music, conversation, and laughter start up again behind them as they turned a corner and stopped in front of a door.

"Well," the pistol looked from one to the other, grinning broadly. "Here we are, your home for the night! I'll knock when your time's up, but I won't come in. Those are the rules, after all. You can take as much time as you want after." The implications were clear and they shook their heads in stunned unison. Liz ignored it, continuing her instructions. "Have fun you two! Don't do anything I wouldn't do—or rather, do _everything_ I would do!" She winked and laughed as they shuffled into the pitch black room and she closed the door softly behind them. The laughter faded down the hallway and then she was gone, her voice blending into the general cacophony of the party half a house away.

The room was dark, with just the barest hint of light creeping out from under the doorway. Maka felt her way around, trying to gauge the size and shape of the space they'd be stuck in for the night, while Soul remained standing in the doorway, trying to figure out how they had ended up in this odd predicament.

"I think it might be a big closet," Maka said from somewhere several feet away. "When I reach up, I can feel a bar and some shelves, and it's a square—I don't know, maybe 8 feet long, 8 feet wide. Since it's Kid's house, it would figure. But there's nothing in here but us. No clothes, no anything I can feel." Her voice had gotten father then nearer to him as she felt her way around. And then she surprised both of them by smacking right into him.

"Ouch!" they both exclaimed, each rubbing their own forehead in the darkness.

"Well, no one told you to go stumbling around in the dark," he growled his frustration at her.

"Well, no one told _you_ to just stand there like a useless jerk," she countered. Each heard the other huff in the dark and each backed away. When Maka hit the wall, she slid down to a sitting position, scooting into a corner.

"There," she said. "This is my corner. I'll just park right here. You can pick your own."

"Whatever," he muttered and backed into the corner across from her, first crouching before sitting. Neither spoke again for a while, the silence stretching into minutes as each battled with annoyance, embarrassment, frustration, and _other feelings_ they had either not the wish or courage to name.

Eight hours. What in the hell were they going to do in the dark for eight hours?

Well, they both knew what people _hoped_ they'd do.

Soul spoke the thought out loud before he could quite stop himself. "You know what they're expecting, right?"

"Do I look stupid to you?" She snapped.

"You don't look much like anything to me at the moment." In truth, his eyes were adjusting and he could tell from the faint light coming in under the door that her darker shadow occupied the space across from him, but that was about all.

She huffed in response. "Of _course_ I know what they're expecting, Soul."

"It was a rhetorical question."

"Yeah, whatever. Didn't even know you knew what a rhetorical question _is._"

"Now who's calling who stupid?"

"Whom," she shot back.

"What?"

"It's who is calling _whom._ You use whom when it's in the object place. Don't you _ever_ pay attention in English, Soul?"

"We're not in fucking English, Maka. We're trapped in a closet, where people are expecting us to do things that certainly would _not_ be approved of in English class."

"As _if_," she bit back, her voice dripping disgust. For once, he had no quick comeback. Silence stretched again, the minutes seeming endless in the darkness. Maka realized by the silence she had gone too far, could sense the hurt in his soul, and it was only another moment before Soul could hear Maka shifting, heard the sound of her feet shuffling the few steps across the darkness. He saw her shadow loom near before hearing her back hit the wall only a handbreadth from his place in the corner and heard her slide down again. He could just make out her face, heavily shadowed.

"Soul?"

Something had snapped in him when he heard her disgust at the very _idea_ of what people expected from them here, and he couldn't help his next words coming out almost of their own volition, the hint of bitterness unmistakable.

"Would it really be so bad?" His voice was close and quiet and Maka just stared for a moment. In the shadows, she could tell he stared back, though it was impossible to read his expression in the darkness. This stupid closet. Her stupid temper. And now his stupid words—it was all edging towards something she had been trying to ignore for well over a year now, prodding that sore spot she wished could just be left alone. Stupid, stupid Liz.

She let out a long sigh. Of all people, she owed Soul honesty.

"No," she admitted. "But I don't want to ruin everything by crossing that line, and I'm certainly not going to be… to be goaded into crossing it by some stupid game."

"You really think it would ruin everything?" He didn't know why he had chosen now to confront this, except that they were stuck in the dark in this damned closet and he couldn't quite see her, and she couldn't quite see him, and it had been a long fucking time since he'd wanted to cross that line. He'd tried to nudge his toe over it in the past several months, tried time after time. He dropped hints the size of Montana—about following her anywhere, about making music together—but she never took them and he wasn't about to drag her farther than she was willing to go. He loved her too damned much for that. If there was one thing facing Asura and living to tell about it had taught him it was that he had at least that much in common with Crona.

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice soft. It was the truth. Sometimes she thought it couldn't matter. She had known she loved him long since, even if she didn't exactly want to acknowledge it, and she trusted him, and she thought if they could face Asura together, then surely they could face this. She was pretty sure he returned her feeling;, they were so close, their souls so bound, her perception so keen, it would be impossible for her not to sense that much. Yet, still she was afraid. Her parents had loved each other too, hadn't they? Her mother had trusted her father—and yet, in the end, it wasn't enough. She knew Soul wasn't Spirit, she knew that, but was it worth risking what they had now, this amazing thing, this strong friendship and partnership and bond, just for the one little thing it was missing? As much as she wanted that, and she did, she wouldn't trade everything else, trade being together in the way they had always been together, just for sex. Because—and she almost colored at the thought—wasn't that what it came down to?

"I do," his voice was suddenly closer in the darkness, he had brought himself closer. She could feel him looming over her, see his shadow blocking her light. His hand gripped her shoulder and she felt that fear well up inside of her, that familiar feeling she associated with love, with closeness, with _him._ "Do you really think things are going to change just because you kiss me? Do you think I'm suddenly, what, going to start looking at all those idiots I never gave a second glance to, I'm never gonna give a second glance to, because of a kiss? Do you think our partnership is so weak, our bond so damned thin?" His voice was tight with frustration, and she could feel his hot breath on her face he was so near.

"I don't—" she started, but he cut her off.

"I'm not finished, Maka. None of that's going to happen. None of it. We live together, take classes together, go on missions together, _share our lives together_, and if we share a kiss together, none of that is going to change. Not one fucking thing. Except, well, we get to kiss. Would that be so damned bad_?_"

She didn't quite know what came over her, really she didn't. He was just so near, and his voice so raw, his sincerity etched so deeply in his soul. And it was dark and private, almost like a dream. Her own long pent up, long managed feelings overflowing in that instant, she leaned in just that half inch and kissed him, his lips warm and soft in the darkness. He didn't hesitate, grabbing her shoulders and shifting his mouth to move with hers, their kiss awkward and warm, hesitant and wonderful. It lasted several moments, neither eager to end the contact both had quietly, painfully craved and denied for so long. Finally, she moved back, breathing in deeply as she heard his own pants so near in the black, his hands still on her shoulders. Her own hands, which had somehow found their way into his soft white hair, the traitors, moved back quietly.

"No," she finally said.

"No what?" He was confused.

"No, it wouldn't be so bad. I already told you that." And it wasn't, it really wasn't. So when his only reply was to lean in and kiss her again, she returned the kiss gladly.

They exchanged several more kisses over the course of their time in "heaven," but mostly, they just cuddled and talked about the same mundane things they normally talked about—the test coming up on Thursday in Stein's class, the mission they had just completed, the chances anyone would ever make another Death Scythe in spite of Kid's declaration. Eventually, exhausted and bored and tired of being trapped in the dark, they fell asleep, curled up together.

When Liz finally knocked, hours later, they missed it, so deeply were they asleep. And when a few more hours had gone by and she dared to knock again, the party long since broken up and the fact that Soul and Maka _were still in the closet_ on every wagging tongue, they both started awake and scrambled up and, in another moment, they were finally out of the closet.

Both of them insisted that nothing had happened, when Liz asked with a smarmy smirk, that they had simply missed the first knock because they'd fallen asleep out of sheer boredom.

It was the truth. Nothing had happened because nothing had really changed. And yet, everything had changed. All because of eight hours in heaven.

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**A/N: This was written in honor of my reaching 100 followers on Tumblr, and was based on a prompt submitted by snorlaxlovesme: Soul and Maka have to do Seven Minutes in Heaven at a sleepover with all their friends! I was trying to finish this one quickly, so my apologies for any glaring editing errors.**


	4. A Halloween Fairy Tail

**A/N: This is a silly little short, quickly written and edited, in honor of Halloween. Totally pointless SoMa fluff.**

* * *

**A Halloween Fairy Tail**

He was sitting on the couch, his foot tapping an impatient beat on the carpet. What the hell was she doing in there anyway, attaching a fifth limb?

"Maaakaaaa!" He half yelled, half whined. "Are you ready yet? You take much longer and we'll be going to a Christmas party." He heard footsteps behind him and whipped his head around just in time to see her emerge from the hallway. She was wearing a breastplate of armor with a yellow sideways cross, a short blue skirt, high black boots, and a sword at her hip. All that was different enough but couldn't compare to her hair, which had been temporarily colored the same ridiculous shade her father sported. Altogether, she looked like she belonged in some surreal alternate middle ages. The look suited her and Soul could see why she'd chosen this particular costume. Why _he _had gotten stuck with the costume she had chosen for him, however, was a different matter.

"Well?" She stopped just in front of him, hands on her hips.

"Why the hell do you get to be a badassed babe and I'm stuck as Mr. Freaky Pink Hair," he grumbled.

"So it looks good?"

"Yeah, it's fine, I guess," his begrudging response could not quite hide the admiration on his face. "Doesn't answer my question, though."

"We already went over this," she shook her head. "I want to win the costume contest this year."

"Yeah, whatever. But why'd I have to be Fire Guy? The Ice Mage whosisface is cooler."

"He also has black hair, and that was no way going to work on your white locks, Cinderella." She smiled down at him, running a hand through his now pink—pink of all colors damnitall—hair. "Plus your teeth work better for Natsu."

"So, basically, you get to go as a smoking hot fighter chick, and I'm stuck being a dorky hothead who eats too much."

She huffed. "How many times do I have to tell you that Natsu is the main character and super strong?"

"He's also totally oblivious. He's got a hot babe who is totally into him and doesn't make a move. What a dork."

"Hey!" She smacked the side of his head; the hit was a bit too hard to be truly playful.

"What was that for?" He looked almost affronted.

"I thought you didn't watch anime."

"I don't."

"And yet you were able to describe your character's traits."

Soul shrugged in response, earning another smack to the side of the head—her costume must lack book space, he figured. Despite the cost of her continued annoyance, he wasn't about to admit to actually liking anime and being a fan of the series they had pulled their costumes from. He was way too cool for that.

"And we had to go as some dorky anime duo why again?"

"Because Cosplay is the theme this year." He could tell she was getting impatient, the narrow eyed look conveying all her frustration at his belittling of something she cared about. Halloween was something like Christmas and Mardi Gras all rolled into one surreal package in Death City. At first, he had found it odd and more than a bit disconcerting, but he had come to almost like it. He sort of enjoyed dressing up with Maka. Maka herself had ceased loving the holiday when her parents divorced—too many painful memories—but her competitive streak wouldn't let her back down from a challenge. So when Black*Star had insisted he and Tsubaki could beat them in the costume contest, she'd risen to the occasion. Soul had to admit the costumes were good. He didn't know how she had managed to gather all the bits and pieces, but they really did look like the characters they were supposed to be portraying.

"Yeah, yeah. Alright, so if I couldn't go as Ice Guy, why didn't you go as that blonde babe since she and fire dude are sort of an item—well, if the guy ever catches a clue they will be, anyway."

"So you want people to assume we're a couple?"

He just stared at that. Actually, he wouldn't really mind, but that wasn't the point here.

"We're dressed up together either way. So why not the chick with the keys?"

She just shrugged and mumbled something unintelligible. He caught something about Lucy and service and couldn't make sense of it.

"What was that?"

"I SAID I CAN'T PULL OFF MY LADY LUCY, QUEEN OF FANSERVICE!" she practically screeched, her face as scarlet as her hair dye. He just scoffed.

"Every chick in that show has tits the size of melons."

"Yeah, but the armor hides the fact that I don't," she mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. He let out a breath. Much as he disliked parties, he didn't want to spend this one with her upset the whole time. So he stood, and moved his hand up to her cheek, gently turning her face to look at him.

"You look good." It was the truth, and she deserved to hear it for once. Cool guys told a lady when she looked hot, after all, didn't they?

"R…really?" The color had returned full force.

"Mmmm hmmm. Smokin'. Just like the real Erza." He flashed her a sharky grin and she smiled back, then shook her head, her smile turning playful.

"There is no real Erza."

"You know what I mean." She just laughed in response and moved away towards the door.

"So, ready to win this contest?" She said, turning around as she reached the exit.

"Sure. Don't think we can lose, really." He replied, walking to the door himself.

"Why's that?" Maka looked confused.

"Because. Black*Star doesn't know shit about Anime. Knowing him, he'll probably dress as a Smurf or some shit."

They both laughed at that, their laughter echoing in the hall long after as they headed down the stairs and into the night.


End file.
